


however he pleases

by blackeyedblonde



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Cottage Setting, Domestic Bliss, F/M, Implied Pegging (for later), Intimacy, Married Couple, Oral Sex, Other, Penis In Vagina Sex, Romance, Seaside, Self-Insert, Softcore Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:47:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackeyedblonde/pseuds/blackeyedblonde
Summary: “How are we gonna pass the time?” Samuel murmurs, trailing kisses up the curve of your throat as you tip your head to the side, giving yourself completely over to his attention.You smile, trying to disguise the wry slant on your mouth even if he can’t see it. “There should be some old games in the storage closet,” you tell him. “Maybe we can play Jenga by candlelight.”Your husband hums at that, playfully thoughtful even as his groin fits against the curve of your ass. “Funny, babe, I can think of something else we’d have fun doing by candlelight.”
Relationships: Original Male Character/Reader
Comments: 27
Kudos: 65





	however he pleases

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, this finally happened! Samuel is a woodworker and hobby fisherman between 35 and 40 years old and lives in a quaint, rustic cottage somewhere on the eastern coast of New England with his beloved partner. If he just so happens to vaguely resemble a Mr. C. Brown from sometime in the 1990s in your mind’s inner eye as you read, well, it wasn’t me who told you so. What a coincidence! Incredible. 
> 
> The hypothetical “You” can be anybody interested enough to read this, but for completely self-indulgent purposes I’ll be using words like hole, folds, slit, nub, and chest to help describe the sensual encounters herein. Even so, “You” has still been characterized in a more generally fluid way to the best of my ability. Samuel’s parts are described as cock, member, shaft, etc. 
> 
> Anyway, it’s High Romance. Tender. Soft vanilla shit. ALMOST Harlequin purple prose, but not quite. I warned you!

  
  
The breeze coming off the water at late afternoon is pleasantly cool but strong enough to make your clothes whip around you like a torn flag. As you bend at the waist to pull a few errant weeds and prune the scrubby roses, the salty ocean air dips its hand down the front of your cotton shirt and makes your nipples pebble as some building electricity slowly gathers in the air.

A storm must be coming.

Samuel had gone down to the water with the dogs after finishing his work for the day, carrying along some piece of gnarled driftwood he likes to throw for them to chase along the beach. He’s been gone for over an hour but you don’t worry—he’ll keep the dogs out until they’re worn ragged, then hustle them back up to the cottage to eat supper and sprawl out in their beds for the rest of the night.

Content with the knowledge that he’ll be back soon enough to stir up laughter and trouble, you crouch back down to dig around your dark-faced pansies, carving out a little trough in the earth. The dried marigold pods in your pocket smell sweet and fragrant as you crumble them between your fingers and press the tiny seeds into the garden bed. You stand once the soil is planted and watered, hitching your hands up on your hips to survey your work.

Beyond the picket fence, Samuel’s footsteps are silent through the sand and whispering dunes. The crunch of garden path gravel under his boots is the only warning you have before you feel broad hands encircle your waist and warm, chafed lips press against the nape of your neck.

“You’re going to burn without your hat,” Samuel rumbles against the soft skin there. He’s not quite pressed along your back but you can sense the heat and size of him lingering, distracted by the gentle swipe of his thumbs over your hipbones through worn cotton.

“I won’t be out much longer,” you say, fingers straying to the back of his hands to keep him there for a few moments more, brushing the warm pinch of gold that matches the ring on your own left hand. “Storm’s coming up fast, anyway.” 

“Hmm,” Samuel hums, tipping his face to rest his chin on your shoulder, tawny curls falling forward to hide his eyes from view. “Seems I was just in the nick of time.”

You laugh, reaching back to touch his cheek. In the distance thunder rolls even as the sun still shines buttery and warm throughout the cottage garden. “In time for what?”

“To do this,” Samuel says, and presses your knees from behind so you stumble the same moment he swings low to seamlessly scoop you up into his arms.

The dogs happily prance and huff around his feet as he stands victorious there on the garden path, holding you like a newlywed partner who weighs nothing at all. You arch a skeptical brow but Samuel only grins, tracing a thumb along the side of your knee.

“Oh, fair siren of the sea,” he says in imitation of some far-off lilting accent as he carries you toward the cottage door, though the depth and gentle rasp in it makes your stomach bloom with heat. “It was I who stole thee from Poseidon’s grasp, but thee who has stolen my heart.”

Samuel has to duck his head to enter the low doorway and you take his chin in hand for a kiss when he does. He stops there on the threshold and smiles against your mouth, warm and smelling faintly of salty air. Behind him the sky rumbles, and by the time he’s set you back on your feet the sunshine from before has been swallowed up into the maw of the impending gale.

Your dishes from supper are still sitting beside the sink but you pay them no mind as you lean against the counter and watch him move around the room to feed the dogs and get them fresh water from the tap. Samuel steals another kiss as he passes by to set their bowls down on the mat in the mud room, promising to be back once he shutters up his workshop for the night.

With a sigh you turn to start filling the sink, listening to the tinkling wind chimes hanging off the rear awning as the sky deepens to a dark wall of bluish slate grey. The dogs whine some but are tired enough to go curl up in their bed together, drifting off to the clinking sound of glasses and silverware in soapy water.

You’re nearly done when the back door opens and shuts, the deadbolt locking into place with a click. Samuel is on bare feet this time when he pads across the kitchen and slides in behind you, resting his cheek at the back of your head.

“Looks like a bad one coming,” he murmurs, tucking a wisp of your hair behind one ear while you wash a soup bowl. It’s raining in the garden, the wind picking up speed as clouds roll in overhead. “We might lose power tonight.”

“We have plenty of candles around here,” you say, setting your washrag down when he leaves a kiss on the bare skin between your neck and shoulder. “And the generator in the shop.”

“How are we gonna pass the time?” Samuel murmurs, trailing kisses up the curve of your throat as you tip your head to the side, giving yourself completely over to his attention.

You smile, trying to disguise the wry slant on your mouth even if he can’t see it. “There should be some old games in the storage closet,” you tell him. “Maybe we can play Jenga by candlelight.”

Your husband hums at that, playfully thoughtful even as his groin fits against the curve of your ass. “Funny, babe, I can think of something else we’d have fun doing by candlelight.”

Rain is beginning to blow in through the kitchen window above the sink, cold and wet against the bare skin of your face and throat. But then there’s Samuel at your back, growing hard and already searing like a fired brand, cock stirring against your bottom through layers of cotton and linen. Wetness gathers between your legs and you swallow a gasp as he nips your earlobe. Even though your front is damp with rainwater you can’t bear to move, mindlessly grinding your mound against the edge of the counter he has you pressed against.

“I should take you right here,” Samuel murmurs, tip of his nose skimming beneath your jaw as his roughened woodworker’s hand dips beneath the waistline of your clothing. His fingers slip in that slickness between your folds like he’s dipping into a pot of warm honey, and you buck against his palm as his thumb teases the sensitive nub at the peak of your soft slit. “You’re so damn wet already, baby. Jesus.”

He’s fucked you in this kitchen before and you have no doubt he’ll do it countless times again—but your legs feel weak beneath you, and despite all his warmth you’re beginning to shiver in the cold wind blowing in from outside. Thunder groans and lightning splinters in the far-off sky above the restless ocean, signaling a worse storm yet to come.

When you turn in his arms, the shape of his cock beneath his slacks is firm against your belly but his blue eyes are indulgent and soft. He watches you, wolfish and playful, as he draws his hand with wet fingers up to his mouth and sucks them clean. The sight makes a droplet of slick slide down your inner thigh as all the hair on your arms stands on end.

“Take me to bed,” you say, dizzy with wanting him; his mouth, his fingers, his thick cock plunged deep enough to make you scream. “Not here. I—I need all of you.”

Samuel’s solid arms brace around your shoulders as he reaches behind you to push the cottage window shut until it’s flush in the sill, locked into place. His fingers draw back to touch beneath your chin and you tip your face up to meet his, lashes lowered, heart beating heavy in your chest as his lips graze your mouth.

“Then we’ll go to bed,” he rumbles in agreement, the words something you can feel like braille on your lips, the edge of his thumb moving to swipe over your cupid’s bow. There may be the bittersweet taste of your own arousal lingering there on Samuel’s bottom lip but you can’t say for sure. 

He could carry you but you want to take the stairs on your own two feet. When you take his larger hand in yours he wordlessly follows, letting you lead the way up to the lofted bedroom at the top of the stairwell while rain comes down in sheets on the roof above. You’re still so wet for him that you can feel the sticky heat between your thighs with each step.

Grey light falls through the modest skylight in the loft, soft as a dove’s wing, pooling in the rumpled bedding like a shimmering mirage. You drop Samuel’s hand and walk over to the high bed, making a show of shimmying out of your clothes until it’s discarded in a pile on the floor. With his eyes on you and nothing else, you bend over the mattress and spread your legs so he can finally see the glistening pink of your slit.

He’s free to use you however he pleases. You both know that by now, a pact made long ago and now something intimately unspoken. Even with the hunger in Samuel’s eyes and all the raw strength in his body, you don’t fear him—not your good husband, attentive and doting despite his stature and work-roughened hands.

Samuel crosses the room in two short strides, kneels behind you like a man gone to prayer, and spreads you apart with his hands before licking right into the velvet heat between your legs.

You heave out a broken gasp because you can’t stop yourself, but he has no interest in letting up anytime soon. He laps at you and flattens the widest part of his tongue against your hole, the teasing warmth as agonizing as it is exhilarating. You push back against his face until you may as well be sitting on the square cut of his jaw, stubble burn be damned, but when Samuel needs to draw a deeper breath he pushes two thick fingers into your hole in place of his tongue. He expertly crooks them up with his thumb circling your swollen nub until you rock forward against the bed and come fast with a muffled groan, clenching around him as slick glistens around his fingers up to the last knuckle.

“That’s it, baby,” your husband murmurs, still massaging the swell of your ass with one hand as his fingers push against a tender spot that makes you see stars with the other. Before it becomes too much he knows to pull away, and you lay there, naked and already half-spent, listening as he rises to his full height and unbuckles his belt behind you.

You can’t watch or admire him from this angle, so you pull yourself onto the bed and flop over onto the soft duvet without much grace. Your legs are spread to bare the pinkness between your thighs, arms thrown wide and hair fanned out like a soft halo. Samuel watches with his pupils blown dark, fisting his cock when it finally springs free and hangs heavy there between his pale thighs. He is a vision beyond that, though—tall and broad in the middle and across the shoulders, chest and lower belly fuzzy with coarse hair. Stronger and heavier than he was when you first met years ago as young lovers, and this is something you secretly delight in with every year he grows older.

His gaze goes from your bared folds up to your face, lingering there with a smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes. When you reach down between your legs and dip your fingers back into yourself, teasing and coy, his tongue darts out to swipe along his bottom lip and his nostrils flare.

“Do you want to play?” he rumbles, lifting an eyebrow. When his hand falls away from his cock it bobs there, flushed and ready. You ache down deep just looking at it, knowing full well what it can do, how much it stretches and fills you.

“Maybe,” you say, spreading your knees as one heel pushes down through the duvet. Quick as a flash, Samuel’s right hand darts out and wraps entirely around your left ankle, and before you have time to move or protest he’s hauled you back over to the edge of the bed.

You’re panting hard already despite having hardly done anything more than walk up the stairs and come around his fingers. The gold charm he gave you is the only thing you wear, rising and falling with each breath where it rests against your sternum. Rain pours overhead in sheets and Samuel still has your ankle locked in his grasp, blue eyes like fire.

“I want you to fuck me,” you say, opening your thighs and lifting your other ankle until he takes it in his hand. Even if the words seem vulgar your voice is softer than you’d intended, dampened with wanting. “Just like this.”

Samuel stands there and lowers his pale lashes, turning his face to press a kiss into the arch of your foot before resting your ankle against his shoulder. You’ve never thought yourself particularly small, but beside him your hands and feet almost seem petite. Not for the first time, you try not to thank some higher power aloud for having had the foresight to loft your bedframe when you moved into the cottage. When the mattress sits up higher, Samuel’s groin is exactly where it needs to be to do little more than press forward and sink into you here at the edge of the bed.

He says as much, like he’s able to tease the thoughts from your mind—and after so many years, maybe he can.

“You wanna lay back and get the front row experience, hm?” he says, gently cocky, taking his length in hand and stroking downward from base to tip. A shudder runs through him when he reaches the flushed head, and you ache even more when something pearlescent gathers and shines at the tip.

There’s lube and other things tucked away in the bedside table, but for now you don’t need any of it. The storm outside has made the room dark, though, and Samuel reaches to twist on the light before settling his eyes back on you. The lamp makes his skin glow golden in all the places the sun has kissed it most, on his chest and arms and the lightly freckled bridge of his nose. All the hair there has been bleached blonder but the thatch of hair around his cock is the same tawny honey color as his curls.

“Sammy,” you say, letting the old nickname roll out onto the soft bed as he stands there between your parted thighs. “Please.”

“Relax for me, sweetheart,” he says, blowing out a gentle breath through parted lips as he lines himself up with your entrance. You’re already soaked and needing him, but when he finally pushes in the stretch takes your breath away.

“Christ, you’re so tight,” Samuel whispers, gripping around the base of his cock as he keeps pushing forward inch by agonizing inch. “Fuck, baby. Can you take everything tonight?”

He already knows you can, just like you have before, but sometimes it’s easier than others. You tilt your hips up to meet him better, gnawing your bottom lip as the adjustment changes the angle just enough for him to slide in flush to the hilt. You feel so full that your eyes nearly roll back just from knowing he’s this deep inside you, but when he pushes your legs behind your head and moves you choke on a sound you didn’t mean to make.

“That’s it,” Samuel growls, sliding out and then slowly pivoting back in a few times to help ease the tender burn. “You’re doing so good for me, look at you.”

You can peer down between your own legs and see where he’s sinking into you, feeling every inch of his cock as it disappears from view. He meets your eyes to share a silent look, and when he knows you’re ready he slams back in hard enough that your skin slaps and prickling heat gathers at the corners of your eyes.

Already the angle is making heat lick up your spine and each thrust has you one step closer to the edge. You know you won’t last and can’t with Samuel’s nearly punishing pace, but you take pleasure in knowing you’ll be able to watch every step of him coming undone inside you.

He lets one of your legs go to drape over his shoulder, mouth in an endless kiss on the inner part of your knee as his thumb presses around the sensitive nub between your folds. Your stomach tightens and you buck under his touch, crying out when you feel yourself hit that impossible peak—but he just keeps fucking you through it, and each time his cock nudges that spongy heat inside you clench harder around him as the euphoria washes over you in cresting waves.

“Oh fuck,” Samuel hisses, tipping his head forward to hang between his shoulders as you spasm around him. His hips jerk, hard, and the force of it makes your necklace fall back into the shallow dip of your throat.

“Use me,” you tell him, voice raw and open, suddenly wanting him closer than he is now. “Come here.”

When he pushes your legs back and drapes himself over you, you relish in the bliss of all his weight pressing you down into the bed. Each thrust spins out into something slower, deeper, a steady grind that has you both shaking for different reasons. Samuel’s lips are at your mouth, your temple, then the shell of your ear with a hoarse plea: “Come for me again.”

You don’t know if you can, but for him you want to try. He slows down enough to make room for a quiet moment of tenderness to unfurl where there was only the lewd sound of skin slapping before, and when he eases back to release his iron grip around your thighs, you sigh in sweet relief and only wrap them high around his thick waist instead.

He makes tiny rolls of his hips, takes your hands and threads your fingers together as he wetly mouths at the column of your throat. You’re utterly pinned, spread out and flattened like a butterfly beneath him, but it’s exactly where you want to be. The storm wails outside but you close your eyes and relish in the smell and feel of your husband, everywhere and all around you, content and at peace in his embrace. It would be easy to fall asleep this way, even with him buried inside you, but you know the night has only really just begun.

One of your hands slips free to smooth over the muscles and angles of his back, feeling the taut strength coiled there as he keeps himself reigned in. You can’t quite reach the pucker of his asshole like this, but you trace light fingertips along the seam between his cheeks and smile and gasp when he ruts into you roughly with a low, broken sound.

“Later, big boy,” you promise, kissing into his hair affectionately before lowering your voice. “Come inside me first.”

Samuel groans but holds up his end of the bargain, slamming back into you as you urge him along. You’re verging on oversensitive now, so when you reach down between your bellies you don’t touch yourself, but let the tips of your fingers graze his shaft where it’s fucking into your hole.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Samuel swears, hips stuttering when he feels your hand. Your spread yourself apart and hold the V of your first two fingers there, mesmerized by the feeling of his girth sliding between them, coated in your own hot slick. Eventually building desire overcomes you and you rapidly jerk yourself in time with his thrusts. It’s not enough and almost too much all at once, and you wish he’d go just a little deeper, hit that spot aching within like an overripe fruit, just a little higher and—

When you come for a third time, the brunt of it ignites low in your belly and hums there like some benevolent fire. It’s not the sharp, fluttering brightness of your first orgasm, but something deep that rends an almost mournful sound from between your lips when you realize you’ve come without him. Samuel hears it and swears, broad hands tipping your hips up to meet his cock again as his feet strain against the hardwood where they’re still planted on the floor. He slams home two, three, four more times, and just when your walls are beginning to slow and no longer squeeze around him you feel his entire body go rigid and that first searing splash of heat pulse deep inside you.

He wants to topple forward, but before he does you grab his hair and pull his head back with all your remaining strength just to see him, just to watch him for those few seconds of total ecstasy where every line in his face is smooth and his lashes make long shadows across his cheeks. It’s a beautiful thing to see, intimate and frightening because of how much you adore him, even when your arms fail and he finally slumps against you, even when he’s panting hotly in the crook between your neck and you know the moment you stand his spend is going to run down your legs and make a mess on the floor.

You both lay there for a time, listening to the rain on the roof and the sound of your own breathing. Samuel slowly becomes aware of his weight bearing down on you and pulls out, softened cock dribbling something hot and sticky on your thigh as he does. You don’t seem to notice, because he crawls further up the bed and takes you with him, pulling you close into the circle of his arms.

“Love you,” he says, kissing your forehead in a gesture almost chaste. You push some of the sweat-damp curls away from his temples and blow cool air on his face between pursed lips, soothing and sweet. Between your legs is used up and aching, sore but sated in a good way that makes you steep in satisfaction down to the bone.

Samuel loves to touch you, and even now indulges himself in more as if he won’t ever have enough of your body to explore. He lazily kneads one side of your chest, the whole of it engulfed in a wide palm, and bends his head low to graze his teeth over your nipple. A warm huff of laughter against the delicate skin makes you shiver, and then he’s reverently taking the hardened bud in his mouth and wrapping his lips around it.

You let out a soft sound, fingers come up to tangle in the curls at the back of his head as your lashes flutter with the new sensation. Samuel pinches your chest on one side and teases the other with his tongue and mouth, growling low in his throat when you squirm beneath the hickey sucked there. Any rosy love bite he leaves doesn’t go without a kiss pressed against it, but eventually he stops nipping to simply relish in the softness of your skin in his mouth and the pull of gentle suction.

You’ve nearly dozed off when he draws away, wiping his mouth along the back of his hand before raising his head to sweetly kiss somewhere under your eye. “Be right back,” he murmurs, and gets up to walk nude down to the washroom, bare ass shining like the moon. You hear the water run and then he’s back with a dampened cloth to help clean you up despite your muffled protesting, even if you both know it’s just for show.

The warm rag feels heavenly wherever he gently wipes something away, and your brazen energy from before is replaced with quiet bashfulness in the face of his careful attention. Almost all of it, anyway, but not quite all—because when he sets the washcloth aside and climbs back into bed, you trace odd shapes along his side, pressing your knee between his thighs so you’ll have access to what you want to touch , that sensitive spot that makes him melt beneath your hands.

“Already?” Samuel groans, biting into his lower lip when you trace a fingertip behind his balls to stroke the soft skin there. “You’re insatiable. A menace to society.”

“I’ll take care of you later, handsome,” you promise with a sweet swat against his hip, drawing the blanket crookedly up over both of you. Rain still drizzles across the windows and it’s not yet full dark, but you already know there won’t be much reason to move from this bed for the rest of the night.

An amused sound rumbles in Samuel’s chest as he pulls you closer and heavily drapes an arm over your side. He’s all mussed curls, smelling like clean sweat and sex and still the faintest tinge of ozone and salt from his walk down by the sea, and you watch the pleased little smile around his face slacken as he gradually begins to softly snore.

He’s beautiful but doesn’t ever seem to know it, always busy watching you from under his heavy brow. Later, when the sky has cleared and the moon has risen through the clouds, you’ll push his strong thighs apart and watch him come undone again, this time with his leaking cock between your bellies and your name like hallowed scripture in his mouth.

You wanted all of him, this man larger than life, and he’s never been one to give you anything less. It’s like taking the sun in your hands sometimes, holding him close between cupped palms and taking all the world's pleasure in loving him however he pleases.  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Next time we'll break out the strap, Y/Y? 
> 
> Thank you for letting me share this wicked self-indulgence with you.


End file.
